


Blood of the Covenant

by FactorialRabbits



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Gen, Non-Graphic Description of Injury, aftermath of Dagor Bragollach, but not quite as AU as you might think, mentions of major canonical character death, minor offscreen character death, the gil-galad question
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 07:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17381900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FactorialRabbits/pseuds/FactorialRabbits
Summary: Having departed Barahir's company to return to Nargothrond, Finrod finds something akin to hope.





	Blood of the Covenant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpaceWall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceWall/gifts).



> A somewhat late Happy Holidays to SpaceWall. 
> 
> Quenya and Sindarin both used depending on character. Translation notes in endnotes.

There had been a village here last time he passed.

That was all Finrod could really comprehend. His men had ridden hard all day, attempting to reach the relative safety before nightfall. Barahir's men had split away, back towards their own people's lands, leaving Finrod with just the three surviving members of his personal guard. They had yet to discover if any of the others of their forces had survived, split as they were. Hopefully... Hopefully they would reunite on the road. Or if not then, then in Nargothrond. The idea that everyone was dead - not just those who like Finrod had been cut off from the main fight - did not bear thinking about.

Indeed, Barahir had only left them at Finrod's insistence, and with the assurance they would collect more guards from the elven village but a hard day's ride further south. 

That promise was going to prove impossible to fulfil. Finrod shared a look with Artiron, the acting captain of his trio of guards since Martamo died in the Fen. Their silent communication was not what Finrod had had with his old captain, but it was quite clear they were as clueless as to their next action as each other.

All around them, the village was crumbling. The houses were burnt to stumps and cinders, a few still smouldering. Elves lay dead and half-eaten in the streets, and there were signs that more still had been captured. Some of the farm animals - sheep, mostly, for everything else had the sense to flee - wandered around the ruins. A couple of barns were still mostly intact.

Making sure his weapons were close and properly strapped, Finrod dismounted. The horse he tied to a piece of fence post close to an abandoned, but part filled, water trough, and gestured for his men to follow.

"Artiron, you and me look for survivors... And gather the bodies. Gaildor? Help Harthon set up a camp in one of the barns, then join us," it went unspoken that they did not have the ability to press on any further that same night. Even if Harthon was not already pale and shaking from the pain of his shattered legs, the horses needed to rest.

Even further unspoken was that any survivors had more likely than not been taken captive, and their number was far too few to even attempt a rescue. Finrod tried to banish the thought - and the haunting eyes of cousin Maedhros and the other former thralls - from his mind. That was a hopeless mission, and one on which he would not drag his injured men. He knew he could not afford to pay the blood-cost for the chance of saving a handful of elves - may Varda have mercy on him.

His men followed the instructions, remaining in calling distance of their Lord and one another. The bodies were piled atop one of the houses, more collapsed than burnt, intended to use the wood as a pyre once all were gathered. It was thankless work but the idea of leaving the corpses of their kin in the streets to be further desecrated sat uncomfortably with everyone. As well as the streets they checked the houses, especially those locked and barricaded - ones that may have survivors hidden within. Finrod forced his way into his second of these - the first it appeared the 'barricade' had instead been collapsing rubble - and froze.

He had thought his heart was already broken when he had found all these corpses, when everything had fallen apart. But, no - it turned out there was still something to shatter.

Inside was the body of an elleth. It seemed she had taken a wound that was not immediately fatal, escaping long enough to hide in the house and escape being eaten.. If the pool of blood surrounding her was anything to go on, she had then bled to death within her own home. Still, however tragic, it was not the elleth that broke Finrod's heart. No, that honour instead lay with the baby in her arms.

He could have just gathered the two of them together, but worried he might drop the child if he were to try. It was only a corpse, but still he could not bear the thought of the tiny form falling to the floor. Of any disrespect to the tiny, tragic body. Finrod reached out, tears silently already pouring from his eyes. 

His hand froze near the child's face. There was the slightest sensation on it, causing his face to twist into a frown. Was that...?

He pulled back his fingers, licking them then placing them near the child's lips and nose. His shut his eyes, concentrating on the sensation against his fingers, and his heart wept; there he could feel the barest hint of breath. 

As soon as that had processed, Finrod carefully picked up the child. He shuddered a little at how cold the flesh was, clutched the baby to his chest, and sang what strength he could into the tiny form. Painfully slowly, with heartrending weakness, the child began to warm, and then squirm, in his arms.

A careful examination, now that the most immediate threat was staved away, revealed the child to be male and his only injuries a few scratches and bruises - likely from his mother's fall. Some of the bruises looked painful, and the one on the back of his head potentially indicating serious damage, but the baby was at least alive and somewhat responsive. Finrod thanked the Valar for it; one tiny, living child.

Resting the child on his knees for a moment, Finrod unclasped his cloak. By the time he had finished untangling it from his weapons, the sound of weak crying was echoing around the room.

The confusion of relief and heartbreak and pain began to overwhelm Finrod; he wept as he bundled the baby up in the cloak, clasping him close to his chest. His tears fell into dark hair, as be pressed gentle butterfly kisses over the little one's form.

"Oh little one... It's okay... You'll be warm and safe soon... I've got you... I'll look after you..."

When he managed to suppress his own tears, Finrod got to his feet, doing his best to soothe the child by rocking him as he walked back towards their makeshift camp. From the house next door, Artiron stepped out. The guard stared inquisitively at the child, then raised an eyebrow at Finrod. Finrod continued to rock the baby, swaying his body as he did so and hoping he would calm. No comment about the tear stains on his own face were made.

"His mother is in that house... Bled to death from a back wound," Finrod spoke only just loudly enough to be heard over the child's continued crying. "Could you...?"

"At once, sire," Artiron gave a little bow as he went to do so. 

"And could you or Gaildor see if you can find something to milk?" Finrod called after his guardsman. "Preferably something we can take with us, if there are no adult survivors to care for the baby."

"Is it old enough for animal milk?"

"Unless you have another suggestion, I do not know what else we can do."

Artiron bowed again, disappearing into the building Gaildor had claimed for searching. Finrod waited to see them both emerge again, before continuing on towards the barn. He wished once more that Martamo had survived; of Finrod's guards, he had been the only parent. Not to mention clear-sighted enough to make up for Finrod's own flights of fancy. Still, his body lay in the Fen, and there was nothing to be done; he had cared for his younger siblings as a child - surely he could manage the baby? At least until someone more suitable was found... Afterall, he would have to; his guards would be seeing to his protection on their flight, too busy to hold and soothe a baby. A baby that must be soothed, else give away their presence.

It was only a few days further ride - they would manage. The only other choice was to abandon the child, which was in no way a choice itself. 

When Finrod arrived, Harthon stared at the bundle in his arms for a few very long moments.

"Survivor?" he asked.

Finrod nodded, sitting himself by the campfire, "I'm going to look after him."

He could read the hesitation in Harthon's eyes, whether doubt for Finrod's ability or for what it could mean for the politics of the Noldor was in the air.

"Who else is going to do it? If we do not take him, he will die..."

"Is the father alive?"

It was a possibility; the father might have been part of Fingolfin's army. As far as Finrod knew, some of them had survived... Carefully, he reached out with his fea, examining the child from another viewpoint. On him he found the frayed remains of both parental bonds, cut away by death. Guiding himself with humming, he gently pushed some of his strength into the child once again - it would not substitute subsistence, but food was already being sought.

"My Lord?"

Carefully Finrod detached his fea, looking back up to his guard, "no, neither parent lives still."

Harthon frowned further, shaking his head a little, "so, what do we do with him?"

"We can work something out when the others return," Finrod gently bounced the now-sleeping baby, just as he had for little Finduilas when she had been small. 

The three remained in silence, Finrod thinking over the problem. There were other orphans in Nargothrond, but most were older - old enough to remember their parents at least - and all cared for by relatives. But he could think of no way to find this child's family, if there even were other members... Even if he could see every elf in Beleriand, Finrod would struggle; the baby's facial features were as generically Noldor as possible for one so young, his eyes soft grey and hair dark but not quite true black. But, if there was no family they could find, what could be done once they reached safety?

He continued to mull over the problem, soothing the baby back into sleep each time he awoke, until Gaildor arrived with a bucket of milk. No words were exchanged as Finrod took the bucket and his own spoon, waking the child to rest on one arm and carefully feeding him. The child brightened a little with food, but remained listless and weak in Finrod's arms. Eventually he refused further food, so Finrod lifted and burped him, before laying him over his lap. Finding the baby now more resistant to sleep, he instead tickled and played with the child. Though the weakness remained, Finrod's fingers were grabbed and sucked on, his touches responded to and occasionally earning him a tiny bit quiet of babbling.  His attention fully consumed by the child, he missed the arrival of the last of guards, and the discussion they pursued.

At least, he was distracted until one of them cleared their throat. Finrod looked up, eyes bright with surprise and the fingers of his right hand being sucked on by the child.

"What, exactly, are we doing with the child, my Lord?" Artiron asked, a slight smirk on his otherwise weary face. If Finrod's suspicions were correct, he had been left to complete the moving of the bodies alone.

"I will look after him."

"How long term are we talking?"

"... His parents are dead, we have no way of finding other relatives," Finrod paused for a moment, considering the situation once more. Considered what Amarië would say if she knew - it was clear enough, for they had always been in like mind about such things. "Unless we find someone living who claims him, I will take him home and introduce him as my son."

The three guards exchanged a look. Harthon spoke up, "will that not cause problems? One of us could take him? It will cause far fewer problems if there are rumours of one of us having a dalliance beyond the city walls..."

Finrod considered for a few more moments - whilst he was happy enough with the scorn, and knew Amarië would understand, to inflict that on a child... "How about 'this is my kinsman, whose parents are dead, and I shall raise him as my son'?"

It was not a technical lie, though there were misconstructions in the implications. All of the Noldor were technically his kin, by a very lose definition, and the child was clearly that. Of late that had been so much death in his family, and Finrod knew more was yet to come - his heart clenched as he thought of Aegnor and Angrod's deaths; of how he had so very nearly lost Orodreth and little Finduilas too; of uncle Fingolfin trying to find some way to stem the tide; of his cousins still fighting, and those already dead. Some of those dead, especially the children of his aunts, so very few people kept tabs on. It was conceivable one of them had recently had a baby, the news lost in the resulting fighting, now entrusted to his care... Orodreth would ask, and Orodreth he would of course tell the truth, but most would likely just accept it at face value and assume the specifics were too painful to discuss.

People always tended to just accept the simplest answer, so long as it was believable enough.

Finrod smiled down at the child, gently rocking him with care for his injuries. The silence between the four adults stretched out for a long time. Eventually Artiron got to his feet, walked over to Finrod and knelt at his feet. The other two looked at him.

"My Lord," he spoke. "What is the name of your child?"

"Artanáro," Finrod looked at the de-facto captain of his king's guards curiously. "His father-name shall be Artanáro."

Artiron then bowed until his head touched the floor, "I Lirrion Artiron do hereby swear my life, fealty and service to my Lord, Findaráto Ingoldo Atandil Felagund, who is named Nóm by the Atani and titled Master of Caves by the Casari, the Lord and King of Nargothrond, and to his son Artanáro, Prince of Nargothrond, to protect and to serve as he commands, to shield them from harm and protect them from danger, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or the world end. This oath I give freely, and may Eru punish me as befits should my word be found false."

Finrod was about to speak, when Gaildor stepped forth and knelt beside Artiron, "my Oath to my Lord remains unbroken and true. Yet today I Gaildor Erynion do also swear my service to his son - Artanáro, Prince of Nargothrond. From this hour forth, unless it contravenes the Laws of the Valar or my Oaths to the King of Nargothrond, I pledge to love and protect and serve with all I have to give, from this moment and on, until he release me, or the world end. May Eru witness this Oath, and should I be found lacking his hand punish me."

Harthon did not step forward, but given his broken legs that was to be expected. Instead he bowed where he sat, facing towards Finrod, "Before Eru who sees all, I will to Finrod Felagund, King of Nargothrond, and his chosen son Artanáro, be true and faithful, and love all which they love and shun all which they shun, according to the laws of the Valar and the order of the world. Nor will I ever with will or action, through word or deed, do anything which is unpleasing to them, on condition that they will hold to me as I shall deserve it, and that they will perform everything as it was in our agreement when I first submitted myself to the King and chose his will."

Finrod was silent for a long moment, before he shook his head a fraction, tears in his eyes as his surviving guards renewed their oaths to him - and made them unequically to the infant in his arms. A tiny smile formed on his face, both it and the tears inappropriate. But then too was that he carried an infant in arm, or that the Oaths were made in the ruins of a barn.

"I, Findaráto Ingoldo Atandil, Finrod in the tongue of the Sindar, Nóm to the men of Bëor and Felagund to the dwarves, Lord and King of Nargothrond, do accept the oaths of the three before me, on both my behalf and that of my kinsman Artanáro. And I to you once again swear I shall ask of you no duty beyond your ability, nor unjustly withhold permission when you bring to me request. You shall be rewarded as befits your service, and no need of yours shall be neglected so long as I have means to provide, and knowledge of the requirement. This I swear to you, so long as your oaths remain unbroken and from them you unreleased. Now, please, get off the floor."

Finrod then turned to look down at Artanáro, as the others shuffled back to their places and prepared food for the group. When he spoke, it was barely a whisper in the baby's ear, "Little Artanáro... You will not be alone any more... Your safety no longer in question, I will see you have all you need or want for. I will love and keep and protect you, no matter what happens. No matter what you do or is done to you, this I swear - I will be your father, and you shall be my son, and so long as it is in my power, I'll keep you safe."

It was impossible that a child so young understood the words, but at them Artanáro awoke. He reached up, grabbing a little of Finrod's hair, and babbled. The King of Nargothrond burst into tears, heart swelling with unconditional devotion, and clutched his son protectively to his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of the first oath taken from Pipin's to Denethor because oaths are hard. The third is literally just the one found here: https://sourcebooks.fordham.edu/source/feud-oath1.asp changed for purposes of setting.
> 
> Findaráto - Finrod (interesting, he and his dad have the same mother-name)  
> Atandil - friend of men. Quenya.  
> Casari - dwarves. Quenya.  
> Atani - Quenya equivilent of Edain.  
> Artanáro is the Quenya form of Gil-Galad's father-name, Rodnor. He does not yet have his famed mother-name


End file.
